


A Life in Pictures

by claro



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, no i'm not telling you the story, suspect voyeurism, this is what happens when you use people's things without asking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:08:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claro/pseuds/claro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has a tendency to document his life with photographs, and Sherlock really needs to learn to ask before he borrows things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life in Pictures

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'll admit that I was procrastinating - mostly due to my birthday this week. And all I will say is that there was a certain incident that inspired this short story - which I'm sure you can guess. And about which we will never speak again. :P
> 
> As always you can find me over at https://clairewriteswords.wordpress.com/ where I blog about writing and fanfiction and make excuses about why my new book is late.
> 
> Enjoy. x

Greg Lestrade was a man who lived his life in pictures. Snaps from old holidays and nights out littered every counter top in the house and were plastered to the fridge, held up with yellowing sellotape, a habit Mycroft had long ago given up trying to dissuade.

Of course, there were other pictures too, ones meant only for their eyes, ones that they sent to each other across the word when Mycroft had to go away. There was video too, as Sherlock discovered to his horror when he borrowed Greg’s phone without asking. The video had still been loaded, and started to play automatically.

‘What is this?’ Sherlock squinted at the little image.

‘That’s your brother sucking my-'

‘That is unsanitary.’ Sherlock curled his lip in disgust, making John laugh.

‘Says the man who can’t walk past a skip without being overcome with the urge to climb into it,’ Greg shot back, reaching for the phone, ‘And if you think that’s unsanitary, wait until you see what he does with his tongue in the next bit.’

That actually rendered Sherlock silent, and Greg could see him trying to mentally delete the image that was now burned into his mind.

‘Good way to keep him off your laptop, John.’

‘Filling it with gay porn?’

‘It’s not porn,’ Greg said, and then stopped, reconsidering, ‘Alright, maybe it is a bit.’

Greg didn’t tell him about the other images, like the photo in the back of his wallet of Mycroft sleeping, that he was almost certain Mycroft knew about, but that he never admitted to because he was sure there was some rule about taking photos of your partner half naked.

He’d even managed to get his hands on some childhood photos of Mycroft and Sherlock, which had a tendancy to end up in the bottom of the wardrobe, an act that Mycroft repeatedly denied knowledge about.

There were photos of the pretty surrogate they had hired, and a seemingly endless procession of small babies and sticky toddlers. There was one of Sherlock after he had ended up in the Thames, Sherlock scowling at press photographers while John stood proudly at his side, and one taken by Sherlock’s father at some family dinner, Mycroft was whispering something in Greg’s ear and smirking, while Greg was blushing furiously. It was one of his favourite pictures. But the one that never failed to make him smile had centre stage on the fridge door. It had been taken when Greg was away at a conference, and Mycroft had been left with the baby on his own for two whole days. Greg had fretted when he had to leave, and had almost cancelled, but Mycroft had just given him a look and packed him off. So it was a bit of a relief when Mycroft sent him the photo that night.

At first he’d thought it was going to be one of their special photos, but when he opened the attachment he smiled. This was better. Mycroft had clearly taken the picture himself, and in it the politician was holding a tiny redhaired baby, and looking incredibly smug for someone with baby formula drying on their handmade waistcoat.


End file.
